kitthornton

Long Dead Choir

 

The harmonies of a long dead choir.
The fragrance of a bloom, extinct a thousand years.
The light from a star, millennia cold.
Last winter's snow.

It was, it is no more.
Its beauty filled a moment
That moment, and a million like it
Gone.

Beauty and memory are poisoned alchemy.
The thick, saccharine venom is wrung from the heart nerve
Nostalgia, a dignified name for the worship of decay.

 

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